Now and Then

by librarylexicon

Dick's spent the past few months recovering from an ordeal he'd rather not think about, so when Bruce asks him to spend quality time with Tim outside of their masks, he instantly agrees. Amid conversations, itineraries, nightmares, photos, revelations and a whole lot of chocolate, he and Tim navigate the Great Ocean Road—and learn more about themselves and each other along the way.

Timeline notes: This story makes reference to All the Corners That Are Left and Belated Vigil and begins the day after Flight Mode, which may give insight into Tim's state of mind, but none are required reading. Bruce has returned to Gotham after being lost in time, Damian is his Robin and Tim is Red Robin. There are also references to past events that have not been written into my stories (yet).

For comics readers: This is set in my Corners universe, which picks up the Post-Crisis continuity and carries it into a future without Flashpoint and the New 52 reboot. As always, exact issues are cited in the end notes for details drawn from the comics.

---

Now and Then

I know it's true
It's all because of you
And if I make it through
It's all because of you
—The Beatles, "Now and Then" (excerpt)

---

"Bruce, I said that I'm fine. Besides, that was ages ago." Dick Grayson frowned at his father across the smooth mahogany desk. They were sitting in Bruce's study at the Manor, and the fact that Bruce was still in the suit he had worn to the office that day made Dick feel oddly like a child.

"You were missing for over a week, Dick," Bruce said. His fixed stare pressed Dick into his armchair, challenging him to disagree.

Dick sighed. "Okay, sure, it sucked—but even if the circumstances could have been better, it brought Jason back to us. I'll never apologise for that."

Bruce softened at the mention of Jason, like Dick knew he would. Nevertheless, he continued, "There's still the matter of what you can't—"

"Don't," Dick interjected sharply, knowing what Bruce had been about to say; he had been invariably reminded of it for the past two months. "I already asked you to drop it. Besides, it's not like we haven't pieced together enough by now." He kept his voice level, but found himself gripping the armrests of his chair tightly.

There it was—the faint pressing together of Bruce's lips that indicated his dissatisfaction. Dick raised his chin and mirrored Bruce's unyielding gaze, in turn daring him to object.

Bruce did not. The long months spent making his way back to his family had smoothed his edges, made him gentler and more communicative in the way Dick had often craved as a child. "All right," he said, his tone measured. "Still, I'd like you to wait a bit longer before returning to your night work."

Even though Dick had been expecting them, the words stung. "You and Babs are too alike," he muttered. "She also told me to take my time—as if I haven't wasted enough being laid up in bed."

"It's worth considering," Bruce said mildly. "However, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. I need a favour."

"Of course," Dick said instantly, curiosity piqued. "What is it?"

"Have you spoken to Tim recently?"

Dick nodded. "I've been trying to get in touch with him all week. He finally returned my calls yesterday."

"He called you?"

"Just to confirm that we're still on for Saturday. We're going to the arcade with Damian." Dick smirked at Bruce's bemused expression. "Don't ask me why they both agreed to it—knowingly! Probably took pity on me."

"I doubt that. They both trust you." And then, while Dick was still reeling from this casual observation, Bruce continued, "I need you to talk to Tim."

"Sure," Dick said, and then hesitated—not because he didn't want to talk to Tim, but because he sensed that there was something of particular gravitas that Bruce had yet to say.

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, resting his hands on the desk as he took a deep breath. "I spoke to him yesterday as well, before you did. It became clear to me that he's been far too… insular as of late. Dejected. Unsure. It's a pattern I readily recognised, because I've seen it far too often in myself."

Dick felt his heart drop, all remaining irritation forgotten. "You're sure he's been remembering to take his meds?"

"He promised me he has, all of them—and I believe him. No, this is a separate issue. He's been spending too much time inside his own head. I'm going to ask him to take at least a week off from Wayne Enterprises." Bruce paused, meeting Dick's eyes meaningfully.

Dick caught on. Relief bubbled up within him like laughter. "Bruce, if you wanted me to hang out with Tim, you should've just said! I'll spend the whole week with him—whatever it takes to get him to open up. Maybe we'll play at being tourists for a little while."

It occurred to Dick that, by instantly suggesting something that would divert his attention during his last few weeks of physical therapy, he had probably displayed the exact reaction Bruce had been hoping for. His suspicions were confirmed when Bruce simply nodded, his expression one of thoughtful approval, and said, "One condition."

"What is it?"

"Wherever you end up going—leave the masks behind."

---

"Thanks again for coming tonight," Dick said, as he and Tim got back in the car after dropping Damian off at Wayne Manor.

Tim rolled his eyes. "Dick, I already said that you don't have to thank me for hanging out with you."

"And I already said that you know what I mean." Dick nodded at the rear view mirror, watching the enormous house disappear within it. "Seriously, it means a lot—and not just to me. Even if he didn't say so."

Tim gave a half-shrug. "Actually, he's been a lot better since…" He flushed, avoiding Dick's quick look. "Well… you know."

When would his family stop walking on eggshells around him? Dick tried not to let his frustration show as he turned out of the driveway and onto the main road. Was that why Tim had apparently been dejected and unsure and yet hadn't answered any of Dick's calls or messages for days?

"We should go on vacation," he said abruptly, keeping his eyes on road. "Just the two of us. Let's get away for a while."

"Leave Gotham?"

"For a week or so. What do you think? Bruce mentioned that he's been wanting you to take a break."

"He told you that, huh?" Tim chewed his lip. "I guess I should, then—he made me promise that I would. Where to?"

Somewhere they'd never been, Dick thought. Somewhere they couldn't be tempted to switch identities and escape into the night. Somewhere so unlike Gotham that it wouldn't bring up memories, desired or not.

Last week, Barbara had pointedly forwarded him a few advertisements for scenic road trips and idyllic getaways from all around the world. One in particular had caught his eye—water-washed cliffs, blue skies, jagged limestone stacks in shallow water… lighthouses and shipwrecks and stunning views with ample space for exploration and reflection…

"I've got somewhere in mind," he said. "The Great Ocean Road."

They had stopped at a traffic light, and so Dick was able to look over at his brother as he said it, and glimpsed Tim's honest surprise.

"In Australia?"

Dick nodded.

"That's… huh." Dick could see Tim's quick mind working to extract rationale from such limited information. "Anything to do with Batman Incorporated?"

"No. In fact, I was considering leaving the masks at home." The lights had changed, so Dick could not study Tim's expression, only glimpse the tilt of his head as he considered.

"Sure. Then it's more likely to stay a real vacation. What do you think?"

That was an odd question, Dick thought. But he just said, "Hey, I'm the one who suggested it. And I'm pretty used to not going out at night by now."

Had Dick's tone come off as casual as he'd intended? It was hard to tell, for Tim was quiet for a moment before he said, "Alfred said on Thursday that this is the longest break you've had for years."

Dick gained no consolation from hearing what he already knew. Instead, the phantom tightness in his chest that had plagued him ever since he had woken up in his old room at the Manor returned with force, snatching the air from his lungs and causing him to grip the steering wheel so hard that the car jerked, skidding a little on the wet road. Behind them, a vehicle honked.

"Dick?" Again, Tim's tone held trepidation. "Look, maybe you shouldn't be driving…"

Dick drew in a long breath, blinking at the irregular spatter of raindrops on the windshield. Mercifully, their stretch of road was straight. He did not think he would be able to hear anything from outside the car if he tried, and inside the car felt deathly silent.

"It's the next turn," Tim said, very softly.

Not trusting himself to speak, Dick just nodded. They had almost reached the Robin's Nest by the time he could say, "Let me know when you're off so that we can plan this trip together—the sooner, the better."

"I was thinking the start of next month," Tim said. "But, I just want to ask… is there anything you want to talk about?"

He'd told Tim that he'd confide in him, Dick reminded himself. He'd apologised and promised to remember that Tim was an adult, not a teenager in need of saving. Still, his own confession came back to him: I guess I still think of you as my little brother. Someone I have to be there to catch. And there was a part of him that ached as he remembered how brief Tim's phone call earlier that week had been, and some latent guilt at his own suspicion that Tim had not been as honest in that call as he had pretended to be. But there was nothing Dick could say, because there was nothing he would do to jeopardise his relationship with Tim.

Again, his hands clenched on the wheel, and he shook his head. "Thanks. But we've got a whole vacation to plan, and it's nothing that can't wait."

A week with Tim… maybe more. A plan was already hatching in Dick's mind—something that would satisfy both explicit worries and internal fears. There was a warmth within him as he remembered the fun all three of them had had at the arcade that day, but it was followed by a twinge as he wondered how Damian would react to his favourite brother leaving him for yet another week. He swiftly aborted that line of thinking. This would be different. Damian would be fine at the Manor with Bruce and Alfred, just as Dick had been.

He had to be.

---

Even though Dick was enveloped in something soft, his entire body ached as if he'd been beaten. Something must have summoned him from unconsciousness—a small noise, maybe, or a subtle presence—and then he recognised the calloused, long-fingered hand that held his.

"I'm sorry," Tim whispered. "I should've looked harder." A deep, shuddering breath. "I shouldn't have ignored Damian."

As Tim spoke, Dick felt himself being pulled back into that intense, all-encompassing sleep, but he yearned to wake up, to squeeze Tim's hand in return and reassure him that everything would be all right. Because although details had slipped away from him in this liminal space between night and day, life and death, sleep and wakefulness, there were two things he knew: that Tim would have looked as hard as he could, and that there was no way Tim could ever have been guilty of causing Dick's current predicament. Dick tried to say all this, but what came out as his fingers twitched in Tim's was just, "Tim?"

Tim jumped. "Yeah?"

It took all his effort, but Dick managed to whisper, "Not… your fault… good brother…"

There was another hitching breath from the figure beside him, an involuntary tightening of the fingers resting on his pulse, and then Dick was lost to the darkness.

---

"Bruce, you don't have to come with us into the airport," Dick protested, as Bruce pulled their suitcases out of the car and passed one to Tim. "I'm perfectly capable of handling my own luggage, and I'll have to do it later, anyway."

Although Bruce did not acknowledge Dick's words, he did relinquish the second suitcase into Dick's hands. "Call me when you arrive," he said.

"In LA, or in Melbourne?" Tim asked.

"Melbourne. And take care, both of you. Look out for each other." Bruce reached out to squeeze Dick's shoulder, but Dick used his regained mobility to pull both Bruce and Tim into a hug so rapidly that Tim yelped.

Dick closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of his father's cologne, and then felt Bruce kiss his forehead. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Tim was still short enough that Bruce could press a kiss to the top of his head.

"Don't invite trouble," Bruce told Dick as they broke apart.

To mask his ungracious resentment at this paternal reminder, Dick just nodded, and Bruce turned his attention. "Tim."

Some silent communication passed between them, for Bruce said no more, but Tim still nodded. "I will."

Later, when they were in the relative solitude of their private jet (courtesy of Wayne Enterprises) and Gotham was rapidly becoming a speck behind them, Tim asked, "Did Bruce seem more… tense to you?"

"Are you kidding? You'd think we were headed to outer space." Dick laughed, but Tim didn't even crack a smile. "What's the matter?"

"We're both adults. He should be worrying less, if anything."

Now, that was a familiar thought process, even if hindsight and maturity had long taught Dick that it was an erroneous one. "We're going to the other side of the world, full civilian," he said. "Of course he's going to worry. And hey, if it helps, I know how you feel—I've been on both sides of that equation."

"With Bruce and Damian, I suppose."

Dick elbowed him. "And you too, genius." Instantly, he wondered if he'd gone too far, but Tim just blushed.

"I guess I was just a kid back then, huh?"

"The most convincing kid I've ever met." Dick chose not to correct Tim's assumption that he'd been speaking in the past tense.

Tim grinned. "Speaking of convincing, I can run you through the finalised itinerary, if you're up for it. I fixed up some of the snarls you pointed out, and also added some potential places where we can stop to eat."

"Of course," Dick said, clamping down on the impulse within him that railed at the assumption that he might not be up for it for whatever reason. Instead, he suppressed his uncharitable irritation as much as he could and paid attention as Tim pulled a folder from his bag and began to delineate every step of their journey.

The reason for Tim's choice of words was as undeniable as it was unfair, for it was the same reason that had singlehandedly altered the way Dick had been treated by his family during his recovery these past few months. So much had happened during his impromptu absence that it still seemed impossible to store it away as part of the past. But such assumptions were antithetical to open communication, so as he listened to Tim's methodical explanations, Dick began to formulate his own itinerary in his mind.

Step one: demonstrate his own capability to Tim so that Tim would stop treating him with kid gloves.

And step two: chase up Bruce's lead and turn the tables to find out what was bothering Tim.

---

Australia's second-largest city, Melbourne, was situated about halfway along the coast of the south-eastern Australian state of Victoria, north of a large, narrow-necked body of water named Port Phillip Bay. Just outside the bay, on the southwest side, lay the beautiful surfing town of Torquay. Over in the west of the state, connected to Torquay by 243 kilometres of winding road, was Allansford, on the eastern edge of the regional city of Warrnambool. Between Torquay and Allansford lay the Great Ocean Road, which boasted a plethora of natural wonders and attractions, including the Surf Coast, the Otway Ranges, the Twelve Apostles and the ominously named Shipwreck Coast.

Dick and Tim had planned their trip amidst Dick's final physical therapy sessions and Tim's own commitments to Wayne Enterprises, and with Oracle's expertise and Bruce's connections, the turnaround between deciding on a destination and stepping on the plane had been relatively quick. It was almost September; just as Damian was about to resume his homeschooling lessons under Alfred's tutelage at Wayne Manor, so Steph was commencing a new year at Gotham University, so Dick was not surprised that Tim seemed preoccupied as they flew towards Los Angeles on the first leg of their journey.

Their evening flight to Melbourne was fairly tranquil, though as the night wore on, Dick found he had trouble sleeping, despite the comfort of their surroundings. Three times, he emerged from fitful slumber to a racing heartbeat and a lingering hunger gnawing at his stomach, haunted not by his own memories but by glimpses of the scenes he'd witnessed via the Batcomputer's files. The third time, careful not to disturb Tim, who was sleeping soundly, he pushed aside his blanket and headed to the lounge at the back of the plane. The door shut silently behind him, and then he was all alone, his breathing audible above the steady rumble of the jet's engines.

Damn it. He'd assured everyone that he was fine—so much so that he'd even believed his own words. It had been more than three months since that ordeal, and he'd survived much worse situations in the past, so what was so different about now?

Bruce had asked him to look out for Tim. Whatever else he was going through, Dick had a duty he could not shirk. He sat down cross-legged on one of the sofas in the lounge, closed his eyes and began to clear his mind, using one of the techniques that Bruce had taught him long ago. No, not Bruce—this one, he remembered, had been from his parents. He could hear his mother's voice, youthful and sweet as she spoke to him from another lifetime, teaching him how to mentally prepare for a performance.

"Less worry, my little Robin. Your body knows that you can do it. It's your mind that you have to conquer."

The nightmares were just because he'd been getting more sleep during his time away from the cowl, Dick told himself. Nothing to do with latent memories of events that had or had not happened, just cruel reminders of days he knew he'd spent trapped, tortured and dying of starvation, fruitlessly searching for an escape as his body grew weaker and weaker. But while the past was immutable, the future was here.

He returned to his place beside Tim and fell asleep to the long-ago echo of his mother's voice.

Several hours later, Dick awoke to the sound of someone rifling through a bag. He opened his eyes and watched hazily as Tim opened and closed various zipped compartments in his backpack in search of something. It seemed a long time before he found what he was looking for. Dick let his gaze drift to the ceiling as he listened to the sounds. A couple of clicks of plastic containers opening and shutting, then the clink of a water bottle, silence and a gulp of water…

Oh. Tim was taking his medications. Dick's eyes snapped open as a hollow feeling shot through him. He hated that it was now so normalised for Tim to remember to take multiple medications every single day, most likely for the rest of his life, all because of what had happened over a year ago.

"What's the matter?" Tim was frowning at him.

With a jolt, Dick realised he'd been staring. "Nothing. Sorry." He averted his eyes, but they fell on the plastic medicine jars still on the table between them. Tim followed his gaze.

"It is what it is," he said, sweeping the jars off the table and into his backpack. "Don't sweat it. I'm on top of it, so quit worrying."

I don't think I'd be able to quit worrying about you if I tried, Dick thought ruefully—but he knew better than to voice it.

---

They landed at Melbourne's Tullamarine Airport in the early morning, two calendar days after they'd left home. The city was lit up with glorious pink and orange and purple hues, rays of light hitting the murky water of the Yarra River in a way that reminded Dick of Gotham. There were some similarities here, he knew—Bruce had visited Melbourne as part of Batman Incorporated, and so there was a local Bat-themed hero—but in other indefinable ways, the city seemed so distinct from the American and European cities that Dick was used to. He was pleased to see Tim take out his digital camera and snap photos out the window of the high-rise buildings and the river and the bay.

While they waited for the airport bus that would take them into the city, Dick called Bruce.

"Hi," he began, stifling a yawn. "We landed safely—no issues."

"Good," said Bruce, though his tone was such that Dick knew Bruce had been monitoring the status of their flight and had just been waiting for them to call. It had to be around eight in the evening in Gotham—Bruce was probably on patrol, or about to be.

"How's Damian?" he asked.

There was a pause. "He's fine," Bruce said neutrally. "He's patrolling with Batgirl tonight."

That was a surprise, though not an entirely unwelcome one. "You two didn't fight, did you?" Dick asked.

Bruce's sigh was audible through the phone. "We're fine, Dick. I looked over some of his homework from the past year. He seemed to take it personally, even though I told him that his progress was exemplary. Is Tim there?"

Change of topic, then. Dick passed the phone over and listened to half the conversation as Tim talked to Bruce. There wasn't much to overhear, just repeated assents, until Tim passed the phone back to Dick, yawning.

"See you soon, Dick," Bruce said. "Take care of yourself and your brother."

"Of course. Stay safe." Love you.

Their airport bus had arrived. Dick hung up and followed his younger brother amid near-constant yawns. Afterwards, he did not remember much of their arrival in Melbourne, or even recall falling asleep in the airport bus, only that it felt like barely a second had passed before Tim was poking him awake.

"It's too early to sleep," Tim said, looking marginally better than Dick felt, though there were shadows under his eyes. "You need to stay awake to…"

"Get over the jetlag. Yeah, I know." Dick pushed himself upright with effort. "You get any good photos?"

As expected, Tim's face lit up. "Look," he said eagerly, clicking through the photos on his camera while Dick forced his bleary eyes to focus on the tiny digital images. "The weather's meant to be really good this week, too. Makes a change from Gotham, huh?"

Dick smiled. It felt like a long time since he'd seen Tim with a camera; the first time, of course, had been when Tim had accosted him at the circus in their second-ever meeting.

The circus… Dick's good mood evaporated as quickly as it had come. Instantly, he was furious with himself. This was why he'd chosen Australia. Somewhere so far away that it held no previous associations. No one here would know his name. There was no one to mould him or manipulate him or raise him up to inherit a city that he'd never imagined he'd call home.

Still, in that moment, it seemed as if some demon too intangible to name had followed him from Haly's Circus and Gotham to this city on the opposite side of the world, and Dick knew that it would not let him leave until he had looked it in the eye. Dick sighed, feeling once again the old weight on his chest as it threatened to fold him in on himself.

It was going to be a long week.

They spent the rest of that first day in Melbourne, mainly wandering the angled grid of streets that was known to locals as the CBD or Central Business District, according to Tim. Though the air was cool, the sun was out, keeping Dick awake as Tim led him through the various stops in their meticulously planned itinerary: the zoo, the state library, the city circle tram, the green-domed architecture and clocks of Flinders Street Station and the neo-Gothic towers of St Paul's Cathedral. Evening led them to Melbourne Central Station, which turned out to be a multi-storey shopping complex with a shot tower within it.

There were two things Dick found he liked about the station: the enormous fob watch behind the shot tower, and the public piano they found on one of the balconies overlooking the lower floor. It was a grand piano, and they had discovered it by following the sound of someone flawlessly and emphatically working through the latter half of Mozart's "Turkish March". When she finished, it was to polite applause from the handful of people semi-circled around who had stopped to watch, including Dick and Tim.

To Dick's surprise, when the piano became vacant after a few more people had taken their turn playing, Tim handed him his camera and sat down on the bench himself.

"Film it," he called over his shoulder to Dick. "For Steph."

Dick obediently raised the camera and started videoing as Tim began to play a few simple pieces that Dick recognised. One was a theme from Tim's favourite video game. Dick grinned.

"Steph's been teaching me a bit," Tim explained, when he rejoined Dick. "She says I've got the hands for it." He reached for the camera, and Dick handed it over.

Tim did have long, slender fingers, even if they were slightly crooked from having been broken multiple times. Dick remembered occasionally seeing Steph play the grand piano that stood in one of the ballrooms at the Manor. It was good for Tim to have something wholly unconnected to his vigilante life, he thought. He himself had discovered in the past few months such interests seemed both daunting and trivial to pursue after years spent behind a mask.

After eating dinner at a hole-in-the-wall in Chinatown, they made their way via tram to Essendon Airport, where a helicopter was waiting to fly them to Geelong, not far north of Torquay. Dick had not wanted to use such an ostentatious and expensive method of travel after their private jet, but Bruce had insisted, and upon seeing the barely hidden eagerness in Tim's eyes, Dick had relented. Now, he could see the merits of the extravagance—the sun had long set, providing them with spectacular night views of the CBD and Greater Melbourne that were far more easily photographed from a helicopter than a through a plane's tiny windows.

In Geelong, as arranged, their car was waiting for them, complete with driver. Anticipating unavoidable sleep deprivation from the long haul flights, they had opted to be driven to their accommodation in Torquay, whereupon the car would be left for them to use to navigate to Great Ocean Road.

Dick tried to engage in small talk with the driver, knowing he was better at it than Tim, but thoughts kept slipping away from him, and the next thing he knew, Tim was shaking his shoulder.

"Dick, wake up. We're here."

Twenty minutes later, they were stretched out on the beds in their motel suite, fast asleep.

---

"Wake up, you damn hypocrite. Why didn't you call for help earlier?" The voice was rough, but something else was under the cool exterior—a pain that refused to go unacknowledged.

Dick had a sense of intense wrongness. What was Jason doing here? For a moment, he thought he was again waking up in Jason's apartment after a bout of food poisoning, but that didn't match up with the way most of his body ached and one arm felt numb. "I… I'm sorry…" he mumbled. He didn't want Jason to be angry at him.

Jason just sighed. "Would it help you come back to the land of the living if I told you that Bruce and I are talking? And it only took you nearly dying to do it. And that damn com-link." Dick felt his fingers being unfolded, then a small weight was pressed into them.

"Call me back, Dick. You promised."

---

The following morning found them exploring Torquay to experience the tiny coastal town in the daylight. First, they went down to one of the lookouts above the beach to watch the dots of surfers along the shore and among the waves. Then, they bought a tantalising assortment of Australian snacks from a local supermarket before driving south to the first official stop on that day's schedule: an enormous chocolate shop that lay halfway between Torquay and the smaller town of Anglesea. To Dick's delight, Tim was entranced by their private tasting session.

"Can you taste the liquorice?" he asked Dick, nibbling on the edge of a square carefully. "I think it's there—it also reminds me of something I ate on a school trip to Europe."

"Your school went to Europe?"

"Uh, yeah? It was the boarding school I was attending when I was about eleven or twelve. I don't remember where my parents were at the time, but we went to Belgium and Germany at least. It was a pretty good trip." Tim popped the rest of his piece of chocolate into his mouth.

Huh, thought Dick. Then again, this was the boy Bruce had sent alone to Paris at the age of thirteen. So, he thought wryly, it would take a lot to impress Tim.

They couldn't resist adding a truly abominable amount of chocolate to their snack hoard, but they justified it by also selecting individual gifts to bring back home. They spent a long time in front of the long, colourful wall of assorted chocolates as they debated, but eventually decided on dark chocolate liquorice for Bruce, Buderim ginger for Alfred, salted pretzels for Damian, coffee slice for Barbara, peanut brittle for Steph, fruit and nut for Cassandra and (this one took the longest) raspberry liquorice for Jason. Dick himself chose mint and Tim eventually opted not for any of the bags on the wall, but instead a rectangular tin of single-origin squares of dark chocolate.

After they had had their fill, they headed on south towards another town called Lorne, stopping about two-thirds of the way there to take a couple of photos of each other standing under the wooden memorial that commemorated the work of those who had built the Great Ocean Road about a hundred years ago. Here, too, was a sobering sculpture of two men with wide-brimmed hats passing a rock from one to the other in their work.

"You got enough room on that camera?" Dick asked, after Tim lingered at the statue for longer than was typical.

Tim blushed. "Yeah, I should. Do you know… has Bruce ever mentioned coming here?"

"Not that I know of." Coastal towns, lighthouses and ocean views were not particular interests of Bruce's, and unless he had somehow found an instructor here during his time spent training, he had likely never been. Australia was too far from Gotham to be practical for impromptu, lackadaisical jaunts.

"It seems like the kind of thing he'd like," Tim murmured. "Maybe."

Damian, too, Dick thought, keeping the reminder of Damian to himself by force of habit when in Tim's presence. But then he remembered that Tim had said that Damian had been much better lately, and so he repeated his thought aloud, watching carefully to gauge Tim's reaction.

"Oh?" To Dick's relief, Tim just looked thoughtful. "Yeah, I can see that."

At Lorne, they stopped at the visitor centre to explore the free Great Ocean Road exhibition. It was a weekday, and the small indoor gallery was quiet, so Dick and Tim took their time weaving in and out of the rooms, reading each small sombre plaque and taking in every detail of the piece of history they had embarked on. Near the end, Dick found Tim watching a black-and-white film clip of men breaking ground on the area that would soon be the beginning of the road.

"They were returned soldiers," Tim said quietly, his eyes not leaving the screen. "From World War I."

Dick hummed in acknowledgement, giving Tim space to continue his train of thought.

"It's just… you ever think about what you'll do after… you know? When you can't do it anymore?"

Dick swallowed. It would be a lie to say he had never thought about it, especially in recent months, but there was an extra layer of trepidation because he felt sure that Tim wasn't simply asking because he wanted to know Dick's opinion, but because Tim was wondering what Dick thought about the prospect for Tim. So he said cautiously, "Yeah. Sometimes."

"Me, too." Tim's voice was soft. "I used to think about it a lot. About what would have to happen to make me stop." His hands were jammed in his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched so that he looked younger than he was.

Dick surreptitiously glanced around them, making sure no one else was near enough to overhear before he spoke. "It's worth thinking about. But I don't think it should be a negative thing. Instead of wondering what would have to happen to make me stop, I think about what keeps me going. The mission I committed to. The oath I swore. What I would be doing now if things had turned out differently."

"What would you be doing?" The question clearly left Tim's mouth before he thought; he pulled in his lips and looked away, clearly embarrassed by the awkward question. "Sorry."

"Don't sweat it." Inexplicably, Dick found the replaying scenes blurring before his eyes. He had to take a breath before continuing. "It's not as a clear-cut as I used to think. There was always some part of me that thought that I'd end up in juvie for real if Bruce never took me in after my parents died. But now, knowing what I do…"

"You'd still be you," Tim said decisively. Dick felt a warm rush of affection. Perhaps Tim wasn't always right, but he could certainly be very convincing when he wanted to.

"I guess it doesn't matter now," Dick said. "I'll just be what people need me to be."

Instead of relaxing at this sentiment, the way Dick had expected, Tim looked worried. "You'd tell him, wouldn't you? If you didn't want to put on the cowl anymore?"

"Yes. No. I don't—" Dick felt fuzzy, confused. "That doesn't matter."

"I think it does." Tim took Dick's arm and led him into a corner, away from any prying eyes or listening ears. "Look, Dick, I don't know if you noticed, but I've been doing R.R. part time for a few weeks now."

Dick nodded. He had noticed, because it had chafed against him that he was still officially in recovery and not cleared to go out, even though Tim had been spending more time out of his own cowl.

"My point is, when I told Bruce a few weeks ago that I wanted to take a break, it was easier than I thought. He was totally cool with it."

"I don't want to stop," Dick insisted.

"It doesn't have to be forever."

"I've tried to stop before. Multiple times. It's not that I don't have the resolve. It's that I change my mind. I realise that there's nowhere else I'm meant to be."

"Meant to be, or think you have to be?"

Dick didn't answer.

---

There was a weight beside him on the bed. Someone was lying on top of the blankets, careful not to disturb the cast on Dick's arm, and he felt the warmth of a small body, smaller than Tim or Cassandra.

"I'm sorry I could not find you." Damian's voice was barely audible. "If I had disobeyed your orders and instead been by your side, I would've been able to protect you." A long pause, then an uneven breath. "You… you were missed very much, Grayson."

Instead of affection, the familiar nickname sent a spark of pain through his skull, and Dick's heartbeat quickened.

"Grayson!"

---

"You got the car key?" Dick held out a hand.

Tim raised the key, about to toss it to Dick, then paused. "According to the itinerary, it's my turn to drive."

"The itinerary that you drew up."

"The itinerary that you agreed to. You're just objecting because you realised how winding the road is between Lorne and Apollo Bay."

"I just think you've done enough driving for today," Dick said, not denying Tim's accusation.

"Are you kidding? It was barely an hour, if that. Your turn's tomorrow, through the forest. That'll be a fun drive."

Well, if Tim wanted to be forced to keep his eyes on the road instead of taking in the view from the passenger side, that was his choice, so Dick gave in. The subsequent drive was indeed full of twists and turns as they wound their way between steep mountain cliffs on the right and sheer drops overlooking the Bass Strait on the left, but Tim made sure to stop a few times at various lookouts along the way so that they could take photos and admire the ocean view.

They ate an afternoon tea of fish and chips on the beach in Apollo Bay, another picturesque town by the shore, and when they had successfully defended their food from a flock of earnest seagulls, they drove up a narrow route to Marriner's Lookout, where they were rewarded with a spectacular, unfenced view of their stretch of the Great Ocean Road, with the ocean curving away from them around the bay, the waves washing the beach they'd dipped their feet in a few hours ago, and the beautiful landscape of trees and houses and everything that lay in between. Dick rummaged in his backpack for the Polaroid camera Barbara had given him.

"Hey, Tim, say cheese."

Tim turned around and pushed a smile on his face, squinting a little into the afternoon sunlight. As Dick waited for the photo to develop, he felt someone touch his shoulder.

"Excuse me." It was a young woman with a child in a baby carrier; her red hair reminded Dick of Babs. "Do you want me to take a photo of the two of you?"

Dick shared a look with Tim, who shrugged.

"Sure," said Dick. He gave her the camera and drew Tim into his side, making sure that Apollo Bay was still visible behind them. The woman snapped the photo, then handed the camera back to Dick.

"I'm Marta, and this is Eleanor," she said, while Tim took the photo to shield it from the light. Her accent was unusual; Dick found he could not quite place it. "Are you visiting from the States?"

"Yes, we're from Gotham. I'm Dick, and this is my brother Tim."

Marta smiled. "I should have guessed—you look so much alike. Are you enjoying Australia?"

Dick nodded. "Thanks for taking our picture." He held up the camera. "I can take one of you too, if you'd like. Or, Tim can—he's a natural at photography."

So Tim took a couple of photos while Marta cajoled baby Eleanor into looking at the camera. While they were admiring the pictures on Marta's camera, Marta said, "I know she's not old enough to remember, but I think it'll still build happy times in her mind. Kids love that sense of immortality."

That was a strange thing to say. Dick's bewilderment must have shown on his face, for Marta laughed a little. "Sorry, it's just something that's been on my mind lately. My sister and I have been digitising boxes and boxes of my father's film negatives. He passed away last year."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you. But looking at the photos, knowing that he took them… it's like he's right there, looking over my shoulder. I'm starting to see things the way he did, looking for the light, catching the right angles. I'm sure he didn't remember every photo he took, but they're still pieces of him somehow."

Dick nodded, thinking of the last photo he had of his parents—picturing himself crouched with a small, adoring toddler who would one day become the brother who stood beside him now. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Thanks so much for sharing, Marta."

"Are you two staying in town tonight?" she asked.

"Yes."

"In that case, would you like to have dinner with us?" She nodded at a man some distance away, who was in the middle of setting up a hang glider. "John, dear, come and meet Dick and Tim. They're visiting from America."

John, a tall, muscled man with dark hair and brown eyes, came over and shook Dick and Tim's hands in turn. "Nice to meet you," he said. His voice was deep, and Dick recognised the New Zealand accent before John continued, "Marta's from all over, but I'm a Kiwi. I see you've met Ellie." He tickled the black-haired baby under the chin, and she giggled.

"Watch, darling, Daddy's going to go gliding," Marta told Eleanor, as John finished readying the hang glider and himself. He took a short run, then jumped off the edge of the lookout, the red, yellow and green glider catching the wind and sending him wafting in a gentle curve down towards the town and the shore. Dick heard a clicking noise beside him and saw that Tim had taken a Polaroid, while on his other side, Marta was taking photos, though with no small interference from Eleanor's grabby hands. They watched the glider until it became a speck as it approached the beach, and Dick released a long breath.

"You look a little familiar," Marta said later, when all five of them were at dinner at a gourmet pizza restaurant in Apollo Bay.

John nodded. "I was just thinking that."

Dick hesitated, not sure whether to come clean. He and Tim exchanged a look, and Tim said slowly, "You've probably heard of Bruce Wayne…"

Their faces cleared. "Oh!" said Marta, clapping a hand to her mouth. "I saw you on the news a couple of months ago. You had your arm in a sling."

It had been a tabloid article, Dick remembered. Someone had snapped a photo of him leaving Wayne Enterprises with his arm in a cast and sling, and there had been intense speculation because of the attack at the press conference several weeks before. Bruce had had to release a statement confirming that Dick had simply been in a minor car accident and would be fine, but the unwanted attention had still been confronting for Dick.

"It's all healed now," he said easily, not mentioning the host of other injuries he'd had to recover from. He tipped his head a little, catching baby Eleanor's eye, and pulled a silly face. She giggled.

"My brother the baby whisperer," said Tim, as Eleanor reached out for Dick's face, awed and making cooing noises. "I don't know how he does it. Always the entertainer."

"Comes with growing up in a circus," Dick said. "You learn all the flashy tricks." He twirled his fork in front of Eleanor, then made it vanish, and her blue eyes turned so round that she looked comical and they all laughed.

They had to say goodbye to Marta, John and Eleanor after dinner, because it was past Eleanor's bedtime, and they would be leaving Apollo Bay in the morning. Marta said that they were travelling the opposite direction than Dick and Tim. "We wanted to visit Sovereign Hill," she explained, "so we went over to Ballarat first, then drove down to Warrnambool. So, you'll see all the sights we just came from. We'll take the ferry to get from Geelong to the other side of the bay."

But they did take a photo together with Dick and Tim at the restaurant, thanks to their waitress, and Tim gave them a Polaroid he'd taken earlier of all three of them smiling as they sat opposite, waiting for their food.

John and Marta were about his own age, Dick thought, or maybe Barbara's. He was old enough to have children, he knew, and then he wondered again about the kid he'd left at home, his brother in all but blood, who was almost twelve years old but was still Dick's kid. Something undefinable. Something neither of them would ever grow out of.

---

"Dick."

Though he still had no strength to open his eyes, Dick knew that voice like he knew his own name.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it back to Gotham sooner." Bruce gave a harsh sigh. "If I'd known you'd given him that old com-link…"

Dick twitched his fingers. Instantly, pain shot through him, but he refused to succumb once again to that world of vertigo and dead ends. Bruce seemed to realise what was happening, for he squeezed Dick's hand gently and brushed the hair off his forehead with a feather-light touch. "It's okay. I'm here."

Dick's lips parted, and the name fell soundlessly into the space between them. "Bruce…"

---

The next day, Dick drove them from Apollo Bay to the Cape Otway Lightstation, which was a secluded lighthouse on a lengthy, forest-flanked deviation from the main road. It was a windy day, and they spent some time wandering in and out of the various cottages and buildings at the lightstation before venturing to the lighthouse itself, which they learned was the oldest working lighthouse in Victoria.

The view from the top was magnificent, though the winds were intense. Dick turned to see that Tim was fiddling with something in his pocket. He pulled out his camera, then fumbled some more to pull out a tiny white rectangle. It was one of the packets of salt from the fish and chips in Apollo Bay.

"You brought that to look at the ocean?" Dick asked before he could help himself.

"Hey!" Tim snorted. "It's sea salt! It fits!" Then they were both laughing, Tim leaning into Dick as he waved the tiny paper sachet labelled Sea Salt in front of Dick's nose. Dick batted it away, grinning, then was distracted by a misty cloud of spray in the ocean over Tim's shoulder.

He'd forgotten until now—the itinerary had said that there might be whales.

---

It was a long, winding drive from Cape Otway to Port Campbell, which was the next place they'd be staying the night. Just as Tim had said, the road led them away from the coast and into the dense green rainforests of the Otway Ranges, and their pace was further slowed by the stops that they took along the way—first to snap some shots of koalas, then for a pit stop at the tiny settlement of Lavers Hill, where two major roads crossed at a sharp angle. More than once, Dick glanced over at the passenger seat to see that Tim was dozing off. So much for admiring the scenery, he thought. Still, he made sure to wake Tim enough so that they had plenty of photos of marsupials and other Australian wildlife that they spotted within the trees.

It began to rain as they arrived, the water casting a grey sheen over the trees and the town as they drove along, but by the time they stopped at the Twelve Apostles, the sun was out in brilliant array.

The Twelve Apostles, Tim told Dick, had never been twelve in number. There had only ever been nine, and now there were seven—two had since collapsed. Still, as Dick rounded the corner and stepped down the stairs to the heavily trafficked lookout point, he couldn't help catching his breath, despite the pounding headache that had been building since being battered by the winds in Cape Otway. The view was magnificent and exactly like the picturesque photographs from the tourism brochures Barbara had sent him.

There was truly nothing like seeing such things in person, he thought, but even as he feasted his eyes on it, he could hear the chatter of tourists around him, hear the constant clicking of camera shutters as countless photos were taken. Tim lifted his own camera, and Dick acquiesced without guilt.

At Loch Ard Gorge, just a few minutes down the road, they learned the story of the Loch Ard, a clipper ship from England that had been shipwrecked on the aptly named Shipwreck Coast in 1878 while on its way to Melbourne. There had only been two survivors—Thomas Pearce, a member of the crew, and Eva Carmichael, a passenger emigrating with her family—both of whom were only nineteen. Tom was washed ashore and initially thought he was the only survivor, but returned to the water to rescue Eva upon hearing her calling for help, and she sheltered in the gorge while he climbed out to get help. Nearby, there were also two large limestone rocks, like tall islands in the shallow water, that had been part of an archway until a few years ago, when the bridge had fallen, leaving two pillars that had since been dubbed Tom and Eva.

---

They had scarcely arrived in the tiny town of Port Campbell and checked into their room at the motor inn when Dick's phone rang. He checked who was calling and mentally groaned. Sure enough, when he lifted the phone to his ear, he was greeted by a far-too-loud voice, and Tim raised his eyebrows at him.

"Grayson! Father is being impossible!"

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. "Damian, I told you that this line is only for emergencies. Can you honestly tell me that you're having an emergency right now?"

"Tt."

"And is he being impossible, or is he asking you to do something that you don't want to do?"

"We had a disagreement. He refused to listen to reason, so I told him I'm moving back into the penthouse and operating solo from the bunker."

He really did have a headache. "I suppose you're there now," Dick muttered.

"Of course. I can keep up my duties just as well from here, without Father breathing down my neck."

"You really shouldn't."

"Why not? I am perfectly capable."

"Because…" You're a child. Because I'm not there. Because I'm not your father. "I can't discuss this when I'm halfway across the world. I…" He stopped. Tim was signing something to him. "Hang on a moment."

Cassie, Tim mouthed. He showed Dick his phone, which displayed his text messages. I'll ask her to stay with him.

Dick nodded. "Dami, I don't have a problem with you spending time at the penthouse when I'm not around. I do have a problem with you treating every disagreement with Bruce like it's the end of the world. What did you argue about?"

"…Father has purchased a dog."

"So?"

"It is clearly an attempt at distracting me from going out on patrol with him. He still doesn't trust me, and furthermore, I do not want a dog. He ordered me to name it, but it's his dog."

Dick massaged his temple. "I don't think he's trying to distract you. I think he's trying to bond with you. Why don't you give the dog a name anyway?"

Damian was quiet. "Maybe when I go back to the Manor," he mumbled.

The Manor, Dick noted. Not home. Not yet.

"I miss you too, kiddo," he said honestly. "But you have to try and get along with Bruce, okay? For me."

"…Fine. I trust you are well?" A pause. "You and Drake?"

Dick smiled. "We're both fine, Damian. I'll catch you later, all right? Say hi to Cass for me."

"Cass? Grayson, what do you…"

Dick hung up, grinning despite the pain in his temples. Okay, so maybe he was a little too satisfied at having been able to cut off Damian on the phone for once. He turned to see Tim watching him. "What?"

"If you don't want him to call you that, you should tell him."

"What… oh." Dick sat down heavily. "I don't want to force it. I know he doesn't mean it any other way." He turned to Tim. "Speaking of telling people things, is there anything you want to talk to me about?"

Tim looked confused. "I… don't think so?"

"You did say you're taking a break from Red Robin," Dick pressed.

"Dick, I'm fine, I promise. I already talked that over with Bruce ages ago."

Dick was surprised. So, that meant… Bruce had already known what was bothering Tim.

"I think I get where you're going with this," Tim continued. "Bruce asked you to spend time with me, right?"

Dick nodded.

"That's because… well… I asked him to ask you."

"What?" But something was finally adding up—why Tim had been so agreeable about an international trip on short notice, why he had been asking Dick such direct questions for the past few days.

"I put him up to it," Tim reiterated. "I was worried about you. Ever since the C—"

"Don't say—"

"No, I will say it! The Court of Owls! Because this isn't normal, Dick! Since when have you been scared of a name? Since when have you not jumped headfirst into anything you set your mind to? You're scaring me, and I hate that nobody else wants to talk about it. Bruce even said to me that he thinks I find it easier to talk to people when I'm trying to fix them, but sometimes I think that's true of you as well. I knew you'd come if I gave you reason to be worrying about me."

"I don't remember, all right? You know that! All I know is I was stuck in those catacombs for ten days until I didn't know who I was anymore. Because I almost got myself killed! I would have left Damian alone, and on top of that, I completely botched the last thing I did as Batman because I couldn't keep it together for one more week!" Dick drew in a sharp breath, and then everything fell into place, all at once, as if he were coming face to face with himself for the first time in his life.

He hated that Tim had come on vacation with him for this. He hated that it had worked.

"Tim… please. I can't talk about it right now. Later, maybe, but not now. You can tell Bruce that I'm doing just fine, and that I'm sick to death of hearing about owls."

"Dick," Tim pleaded, sounding stricken. "I told you it was my idea, not Bruce's…"

But Dick had already stepped out of the room, stalking blindly away. He needed space. He needed to breathe. He needed to think, without Tim breathing down his neck and forcing him to come to terms with the fact that he still remembered virtually nothing from his time spent in captivity. Because that was what it had been. He had been captured by the Court of Owls and subjected to torture and humiliation and starvation for ten days, and the only reason he had survived and managed to escape was ironically because of their attempts to make him into one of their own.

A Talon.

Their Gray Son of Gotham.

---

Bruce would be back within the week, Dick knew. But he had no intention of leaving behind the Batman mantle, at least not until he had wrapped up this last investigation.

Somebody seemed to be targeting Dick Grayson. That much had been clear ever since he and Tim had held a press conference at Bruce's behest to address a particular aspect of Wayne Enterprises with the public—namely, the fact that the company would be spearheading the redevelopment of some of the most run-down neighbourhoods in Gotham. The following day, he found himself accosted after a ground-breaking ceremony by a haggard old man who grabbed his arm and told him, "They're real. They're everywhere. And they're sending him for you—all of you."

"Who are you talking about? Who's everywhere?" Dick had tried to ask, but security had pulled the man away, and Dick thought no more of the incident until a few days later, when everything went straight to hell.

---

Someone was shaking him. Dick jolted awake from a disorienting dream, reaching under his pillow for a weapon, but upon finding none, he swung out blindly, feeling the rush of air as his target ducked. Next moment, a blinding flash accosted him as Tim turned on the light, throwing his hands up. "Dick, it's just me!"

Oops. Dick groaned. "Sorry. What's up?"

Tim was holding out his phone. Dick blinked, trying to focus on the tiny rectangle of light.

"Aurora Australis!" Tim cried.

Dick's brain was still turning on.

"Southern Lights! They're hardly ever visible this far north, but the K-index is super high right now, and predicted to get higher over the next few hours! If we go somewhere that isn't too lit up, we'll be able to see them!" Tim was dashing about the room as he got dressed and gathered up his camera and other assorted things, stuffing them into his backpack. He paused to look back at Dick, who hadn't moved, and faltered. "Dick? Are you coming?"

Dick unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and glanced at the clock. It was half past midnight. His headache, which had been a subtle but persistent pulse in his temples when he'd fallen asleep after dinner, had magnified tenfold when Tim had switched on the light, and it took all his strength not to press his head into his hands. But he must have given something away anyway, because Tim put down what he was holding and sat down on the bed opposite Dick's.

"We… we don't have to go if you're not feeling well," he said, and Dick knew instantly what it must have cost Tim to say it.

Dick shook his head roughly, regretting it when the pain increased. "Once in a lifetime opportunity, right? Of course we'll go. Just give me a minute to wake up." He reached for the drink bottle on his nightstand and took a large gulp. It cleared his mind somewhat, and when Tim resumed packing the things he would need, Dick quietly shook some painkillers from the bottle in the first aid kit and swallowed them hastily. There was no mention of their previous disagreement. They were on vacation, after all.

The night sky was beautiful, lit up with mesmerising streaks of purple and green in a band that stretched into the sky from just above the horizon of ocean and night. They were fortunate that the town was small, and so were able to find a spot a little away from the majority of the crowd.

"I'm sorry," Dick said after a while, once Tim had had his fill of setting up his camera and taking photos and they were just leaning against the railing at the edge of the lookout, enjoying the colours streaking across the sky. "I shouldn't have snapped at you earlier."

He felt rather than heard Tim sigh beside him, and then Tim rested his head on Dick's shoulder. "I shouldn't have given you shit about not remembering."

Dick made a noise in the affirmative.

"Can I ask you something? Not about the Court, I promise."

"Shoot."

"Do you ever miss being Robin?"

Damn, Tim, you don't pull any punches, do you? But that was Tim all over. Ever since Dick had met him, Tim had had an insatiable thirst for knowledge, helped by a dogged persistence that could send the most resolute minds crumbling under such insistent wheedling. Dick paused as he thought how to answer.

"Not being Robin, necessarily—but maybe some things that came with it. Being a kid. Working with Bruce. Wearing my parents' colours. There's always going to be a tiny part of me that sees the Robin costume and aches, because of what it reminds me of."

"Oh." Tim's voice was small.

"On the other hand…" Dick continued, trying not to give Tim the wrong impression, "Robin's always going to be a part of me. It didn't stop being my mom's name for me just because I stopped wearing a bright yellow cape. And…" Tim was giving him an oddly stricken look. "What?"

"You never told me that."

"Told you what?"

"That it was your mom's nickname for you."

Dick frowned. "I didn't?"

Tim shook his head, still looking stunned.

"Oh. Well, Bruce knows, anyway. It was because she said I was always bobbin' around. And I was born on the first day of spring. I seriously never told you?"

"I never thought to ask." Tim sounded subdued. "I always thought you and Bruce came up with it to go with your parents' colours. Talk about putting my foot in my mouth!" He groaned.

"But if Robin's always going to be a part of me, then that's true for you too. It's okay for you to miss it. You might not wear the colours anymore, but you're still family."

"How the hell do you always do that?"

"Do what?" Dick asked, completely nonplussed.

"You just turned talking about Robin and your family into trying to make me feel better."

"Is it working?"

"Stop it. I can't be a good brother if you can't talk to me."

"You already are a good brother."

"See! You're doing it again!" Tim threw up his hands, and Dick's laughter died in his throat. "I can't talk to you when you're like this."

Dick blinked against the sudden emotion. "Tim…"

"And I can't even stay mad at you," Tim muttered. He slumped into Dick's side again. "Just… think about yourself for once, won't you? And let me worry about you? Even though you always seemed so put together to me when I was younger. Like you always knew what to do."

Dick jerked up straight. "You're kidding, right? Guess who had an identity crisis at nineteen? And then multiple times at twenty-something? You've got a lot to look forward to, really!"

Tim laughed, then sobered. "Dick… I told Bruce that I want to get my GED so that I can apply for Gotham U next year."

"Solid plan. I like it."

"Do you… do you think it's stupid? Getting my GED at nineteen?"

"Of course not. Besides, it's not like you can change the past."

Tim's smile dropped. "There was something else I told Bruce, the day I called you about the arcade." He paused. "Did Bruce tell you anything?"

Dick racked his mind, but could come up with nothing concrete that seemed like it would incite the kind of reaction Tim had. He shook his head.

Tim exhaled. "It was… well… it was kind of stupid. I'd been thinking about taking a break from Red Robin for a while—or at least the name Red Robin—but things kept happening. You disappeared, and then Bruce came back, and there was the whole thing with you and the Court…"

Dick nodded for Tim to go on.

"And I wasn't sure what to do, and for some stupid reason I didn't think that I could just talk to you or Bruce about it, maybe because I didn't think you'd understand. Somehow it seemed easier and more straightforward to try and contact my future self for advice."

Dick thought he'd misheard. "You did what? How?"

"I borrowed some tech… that part doesn't really matter. The point is, I got some part of the process backwards, and instead of contacting my future self, I got my past self instead. He—I—was seventeen. I sent him back as quickly as I could, but it made me instantly realise how stupid I'd been."

Dick leaned into Tim's shoulder. "Tim. One thing."

"What?"

"Stop calling yourself stupid." You're one of the smartest people I know.

"But even Bruce called me stupid," Tim said miserably. "It took him yelling at me and that whole damn conversation with my past self for me to realise that I've always been this way. Isolating myself, and then getting upset when people aren't able to push past that barrier—when I'm the one who put it up."

"You've never been like that to me," Dick objected.

"Don't lie to me. You know how much I pushed you away when we all thought Bruce was dead. I wasn't in a healthy frame of mind—I can admit that now—but it's no use pretending it didn't happen. I don't want you to brush off the way I treated you, when you've always been there to catch me when I fall."

Dick's mouth was dry. "Don't… don't say that."

"Why not? It's the truth."

It hurt to articulate the words, but Dick made himself push through the pain. He'd promised to be honest. "God, Tim, I'll never apologise for catching you. Ever. But…" He faltered, unable to explain.

"But what?"

"There's this… I don't know how to explain it. I've never caught you like I did when you fell from the tower. And then you said something I didn't understand. You told me that I'd always be there for you."

Tim looked confused. "Yeah, and I should have said it long before then. What's the deal?"

"Your medication…"

Tim threw up his hands. "How? How is this about my damn medication again?"

"You only take them for two reasons, and if I'd been there for you both times, then—"

"Damn it, Dick. Just… just stop. You can't blame yourself for my depression, all right? You just can't. It's not fair to either of us. I was saying just now that I talked to my seventeen-year-old self. There was a thought that I had when we were talking, because he was telling me not to bullshit him about the future being better than the past, and all I could do was look at him and think, damn, it really colours your perspective, doesn't it? Because I was fucking depressed back then too, Dick. I just didn't realise it. And it was nobody's fault—least of all yours, because we both know you were going through so much shit back then too. We all were. I hated myself for not being able to save my dad and my friends and Steph—but I also hated myself for not being a better brother to you." Tim's voice cracked, and before he knew it, Dick had turned to pull his brother into a messy hug, only tightening his grip when he felt rather than heard Tim sniffle.

"Yeah?" Dick was only vaguely aware that he was also tearing up as they broke apart. "Join the club."

Tim let out a choked laugh. "And… besides… you missed the point of what I said after you rescued me. What did I say before that?"

"You're my brother," Dick repeated dully.

"Yes! Exactly! You're my brother—and I'm your brother. It's my duty to always be there for you too."

"That's different."

"How?"

Because I'm older. Because I'm scared to death of anything happening to you. Because you're the kid brother. "It just is."

Tim snorted. "That's not good enough, and you know it. My point is, I hate to break it to you, but there wasn't anything new about that situation. You've always been there for me. You're always catching me when I fall. The only difference is that I finally said it."

"I don't understand. What are you talking about?"

"Are you serious?"

The night air felt suddenly colder, like Dick couldn't take a deep breath without pain. "What do you mean, I'm always catching you?" He had caught Tim a couple of times in near misses on the edges of buildings, but that did not seem to be what Tim was alluding to.

"I could cite a million examples and still not scratch the surface. You always pick up when I call. You kept trying to get in touch with me after my dad died. You were my Batman after I got kicked out of the Batcave. Even when you didn't know me, you held me and told me you'd do your act especially for me. I was three and I believed it. I think there's still a part of me that will always believe it."

Dick ducked his head, staring down at the ocean below them. His head was spinning so much that it was beginning to ache again. Tim tipped his head against Dick's shoulder.

"It's true, Dick," he said, in a softer tone. "If I'd known you'd react like this I would have said it long ago. You've been catching me ever since I tracked you down at Haly's Circus. I used to dream of having you as a big brother ever since we first met. You're the best one anyone could ask for."

"It's not like I've got much competition."

"Oh, shut up." Tim laughed, shoving Dick. "My point is that I want to be there to catch you when you fall. Be the brother that you've always been to me, whom I've spent far too much time taking for granted. I'm making myself into someone who can catch you. I think I always have."

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it again. He could not speak. Something seemed to be stuck in his throat.

"You've always been the one to keep this family together," Tim continued, in that heartbreakingly honest tone that made Dick feel like crying all over again. "I just hate that it took me so long to realise it. No matter what the Court did to you, Dick, no matter who Cobb was to you, where the Grayson name came from… it doesn't really change anything. But you're going to tear yourself apart if you keep defining yourself by what you think people need you to be."

And there, standing beside his brother on the edge of Port Campbell, tinted by the glow of the fading Southern Lights, Dick took a deep breath, trying to internalise the truth of what he'd just heard—sifting through the platitudes to discern ulterior motives and finding none, only the raw honesty of a secret kept for far too long.

I'm making myself into someone who can catch you.

Coming from Tim, he thought he could believe it.

---

It wasn't until much later that he remembered opening his eyes to find his bedroom bathed in sunlight and see his father hovering above him. His body felt both heavy and numb, as if he'd been given strong painkillers.

"Dick," Bruce breathed, and the single syllable sounded like a prayer. "Can you hear me?"

Dick squeezed Bruce's hand in the affirmative, and Bruce's expression crumpled as he raised Dick's hand to his lips and kissed it.

"It's all right, Dick. We got them. We got them all, thanks to you."

What was he talking about? Dick tried to shake his head, but it refused to move. "I… I don't…"

"Rest," Bruce pleaded, and Dick felt himself obediently slipping into sleep as Bruce rubbed his thumb on the back of Dick's hand. For Bruce was here, and for a moment, Dick was twelve years old again, and everything would be all right.

But when he woke again and again over the next few days, they found that while the Court was gone, so were Dick's memories.

---

It was early morning, but Dick could not open his eyes. Something was stabbing his skull: a heavy, pounding pulse that reverberated through him, blinding him and making him insensible to anything but the massive pain in his head. He'd known a migraine had been approaching since he'd felt the tell-tale pinching in his temples the previous day, but now, as he lay awake in their shared room in Port Campbell, the magnitude was unbearable. His thoughts remained on the conversation they'd had the previous night as they watched the Southern Lights fade over the horizon. It had been a while since he'd had such a late night, and now he was paying the price.

He must have drifted off again somehow, for he was abruptly startled by Tim shaking his shoulder.

"Dick, wake up. We need to pack up and check out soon."

Dick groaned, covering his eyes with an arm and twisting into his pillow. "Shh," he mumbled.

"I'll give you five more minutes while I clean the kitchenette, but then you really have to move." Tim's voice grew further and further away, while Dick tried to sink into a place that was far, far away from the stake currently being driven into his skull.

It did not seem like five minutes had passed when his shoulder was being shaken again. "Dick, c'mon. You can sleep in the car, but we need to get going."

The movement sent a spike of pain through Dick's head, reverberating in every single frayed nerve. He groaned, curling up more and pressing his arm into his face both to summon the darkness and to wipe his eyes dry.

"Shit," came a whisper from beside him, and then the lights dimmed. "Is it a headache?" Tim asked softly.

Dick cracked open his parched lips. "Migraine."

"Do you want to take something for it?"

It hurt too much to nod, so Dick had to make himself form the word yes. A rush of motion and an agonising wait later, and two round tablets were pressed into his hand.

"What are they?" he mumbled.

Tim named one of the over-the-counter painkillers that they had brought with them. Dick took the tablets and gamely tried to raise them to his mouth, but his hands were shaking too much. Then he felt cool hands on his upper back and hand, helping him sit upright to swallow. It reminded him of a similar scenario a few months back—of another brother who had had to take care of him. Dick's stomach lurched. Then he felt a cool hand on his own, steadying him.

He must have made some external reaction, for there was a gasp above him, and then Tim was checking his pulse. "Were you feeling sick yesterday?"

Dick grunted in the negative. "Just tired." I think.

"Why didn't you say so?"

"And miss out on our heart-to-heart?" Dick croaked. But he forced himself to remain upright, even as his head protested.

"You look terrible," Tim said.

Dick mustered enough energy to raise a middle finger in Tim's general direction. He remained as still as he could over the next fifteen minutes while Tim finished tidying up the room and packing Dick's things, including collecting stray items from the adjoining bathroom and the food from the fridge. The next half hour was a blur of activity that Dick was barely aware of. He only knew later, when they were sitting in the car, that Tim had helped him in, had pressed a water bottle into his hands, had performed all the formalities that came with signing out and relinquishing their room key before leaving the premises. And now they were on the road, and Tim was behind the wheel, driving as if he'd navigated left-hand traffic all his life.

Damn it. Tim was right.

He really could take care of Dick.

---

Tim drove them a few minutes out of town, muttering apologies the whole way as Dick's migraine only grew worse from the constant motion, until at last he made a left turn and parked the car. Dick lifted his head dazedly.

"Where are we?"

"London Bridge—well, London Arch," Tim said. "We're just in the parking lot. Do you want to lie down in the back?"

Dick did. "You don't have to hover," he mumbled, once he was horizontal.

Tim still hovered.

"Tim. Go look at the bridge." Dick watched through lidded eyes as Tim shut the car door, pausing to linger outside. A muffled sound sifted through the haze. Tim was making a phone call, Dick dimly realised, but was too out of it to read Tim's lips. A moment later, Tim opened the door again.

"Are you… can you sit up? We're driving back to Port Campbell."

Dick frowned, pushing himself upright. "But… it'll mess up the itinerary…"

"Forget the itinerary. There's no way I'm making you recover in the car, and we can't drive all the way to Warrnambool in this state. I called the motor inn. They'll let us have the room for another day."

Afterwards, he only had dim recollections of that second, impromptu day spent in Port Campbell—getting up to use the bathroom, Tim pressing him to drink water and take medicine, a cool hand touching his forehead, a thermometer recording his temperature… At one point, he jerked awake with a startled thought. "Tim… your spleen…"

"I'm not taking antibiotics for nothing," Tim retorted. "What about my spleen? There's no way I'm leaving you in this state, and unless you want to drive north to the clinic in Timboon…"

"No. No clinic."

"I didn't think so. Just sit tight, okay, and let me take care of you for once."

So Dick closed his eyes, pressing his head into his pillow, and slept again.

---

They finally visited London Arch that evening, when the shadows were long and the leftover chill from winter had entered the air. Dick's head still ached a little, but he had grown so antsy from lying in bed for so long that he was glad of the bracing fresh air.

"It used to be a bridge, years ago," Tim said. True to form, he was reading the plaque that jutted up and outwards from the boardwalk on the other side of the safety railings. "The main arch broke and fell into the ocean, and no one was hurt, but 'two people marooned on the new island were rescued hours later by helicopter.'" He had to raise his voice to be heard over the gusts of wind.

Dick pulled his jacket tighter around himself as he leaned on the railing, gazing at the limestone arch that now stood unmoored from the rest of this jagged piece of coast. What must it have been like, to be able to walk out there among the wind and the waves, knowing that you were entrusting your life to the stability of sand-coloured stacks that would one day, inevitably, be washed away by the tides? To be there watching, alone and helpless, as your one sole connection to shore vanished in an instant? For a moment, all he could see were his falling parents and all he could hear were his own screams. The icy railing was freezing his white-knuckled fingers.

They took a few photos there, waiting their turn among the intermittent tourists, and by the time they moved on, Dick's nose was running from the incessant cold. He shoved his hands in his pockets, following the bob of Tim's red beanie through the tangle of people as his brother led the way to their next stop.

It was an unexpectedly sobering experience, Dick thought, to be vacationing on the world's longest war memorial.

---

So they left London Arch and drove on to Warrnambool, their last stop, and along the way they ate the last of the snacking chocolate from near Torquay. Damian called while they were still on the road.

"Titus," was the first word that came through the phone speaker.

"Damian?"

"Titus," Damian repeated. "I named the dog. I thought you would want to know, G— Richard."

Dick shot a glance at Tim, who kept his eyes on the road in a steadfast picture of innocence. Dick rolled his eyes.

"Great name, Damian."

"So, the mission is complete."

"Mission?"

"You told me to name the dog." Damian sounded impatient.

"I also told you to try and get along with Bruce."

"I am. Cassandra and I visited the manor again. Father wants to patrol with me."

"Thanks, Damian. It means a lot to me. I'm proud of you, kid." As Dick hung up, another part of the weight on his chest lifted, and he found that he was smiling.

---

They were wandering the Flagstaff Hill Memorial Village in Warrnambool. It had consolidated much of their journey—the re-created scenes and buildings demonstrated what life had been like long ago on the famous Shipwreck Coast, where those with dreams of a better life either made it to shore, paid the ultimate price or maybe even, like Eva, had to go on living after their entire family had been lost to tragedy.

The sound and light show they attended that final night projected images upon great sheets of water, powerful in their re-enactment of Tom and Eva's story. There was the panic, the loss, the despair and grief born from solitude—and then, without warning, Dick was thrown back into a dream. Or a nightmare. But this time it was real, not based on any disjointed imaginings created by photographs from the Batcomputer. He was wandering through catacombs, tired and hungry and at the end of his rope. They were trying to turn him into a Talon, but he would have none of it, and though they told him of his destiny, he grasped at a final burst of strength to defy them one last time and make his escape.

He burst through the floor.

He pushed himself out of the water.

He collapsed at the edge of the harbour.

He reached for the old-style com-link in the hidden pocket in his utility belt and made a single call. A call he had tried to make ten days ago, and almost every day since.

"Jason. Help me."

He passed out just as Batman and Red Hood reached him.

---

Dick's phone rang just as he stepped out of the penthouse lift upon returning home after his physio appointment. Relief shot through him when he saw who was calling.

"Hi, Tim, how's it going?"

There was a long pause, quickening Dick's heartbeat, and then a quiet, hoarse voice said, "Dick?"

"That's me. Dick Grayson, delivering big brother services. What's up?"

Not even a half-hearted laugh at the old joke. Another moment passed, followed by a deep inhale. "I'm sorry I didn't return your calls."

"It's chill," Dick said, though he noted Tim's lack of energy. You doing all right?"

"Yeah, I think so." Tim's voice grew stronger and clearer. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm still good for Saturday."

The arcade. It had been on Dick's mind ever since he had realised that Tim and Damian shared an unlikely passion for arcade games, and he had dedicated considerable time and effort to brainstorming scenarios that would get both his youngest brothers to agree to spend a prolonged period of time together. In the end, though, it had hardly mattered—remarkably, they'd both agreed without Dick having to play his last cards.

"Great!" Dick said, endeavouring to keep a cool exterior while still being grateful for Tim's agreeableness. "I'll pick you up on the way there?"

"Yeah—thanks."

"No, Tim—thank you."

There was a small chuckle from the other end of the line. "You don't have to thank me for hanging out with you."

"I think you know what I mean in this instance," Dick said, thinking of Damian.

"Hmm. Maybe." Dick heard the wry grin in Tim's voice.

After the call ended, Dick sank into an armchair. Their conversation, though seemingly innocuous, had set off alarm bells inside Dick's head, for how many times had he dealt with a moody, laconic Tim who avoided personal questions and only reached out when it was absolutely necessary, because he knew Dick would always respond?

Dick had promised to give Tim space. He'd promised to trust him. He knew Tim wasn't like that anymore. He knew Tim went through low periods, just like everyone else. He trusted Tim to make decisions, because he knew that he would make the right ones.

You said we're equals, but I don't think we are, not if you don't feel you can trust me the same way that I trust you, Tim had said a few months ago, before Bruce had come back for good, but the words no longer stung the same way they had back then, because this time, Dick found himself wondering if Tim had been telling the truth in those last three words, and he felt trapped because there was no way to broach the topic without admitting that his belief in Tim's truthfulness was not ironclad.

I'll talk to him after the arcade, he thought, as his heart clenched. I trust you, Tim. I do. I promise.

---

They had enough time on their visa to stay for months. They could explore more of Australia if they wanted—take much longer than a week to navigate this beautiful country.

And so, when Tim proposed it, Dick no longer felt guilt about spending so much time away from Gotham. It had been a long, long while since he'd properly been able to leave the city where he'd grown up. Batman had kept him tethered, but he wasn't just Batman, or even Nightwing or Robin—he was Dick Grayson. He was whatever people needed him to be—but he could also be whoever he wanted to be.

Tim glanced over as he double-checked his own hang glider. "Ready?"

Dick nodded. "Ready."

And he jumped off the cliff without looking back, trusting that his brother would be right beside him.

---

A/N: Yes, I've travelled the Great Ocean Road. (Could you tell?) That was a little self-indulgent on my part—I wanted to send Dick and Tim on a brotherly bonding road trip while not having to do too much research myself. I even went in September, like them, and made them stop in many of the same places I did. The main difference is I went the other direction, starting in Warrnambool and ending in Torquay, which works just as well. Seeing the Southern Lights from mainland Australia is relatively rare—I just gave Dick and Tim some extra luck.

All the places mentioned are real, right down to the motor inn in Port Campbell and the clinic in Timboon. For simplicity's sake, I made John hang glide from Marriner's Lookout itself, though it's also common for hang gliders to use the hill above the lookout instead, since it's higher up and less liable to be busy. Lastly, someone in my family really did accidentally bring a packet of sea salt to the top of Cape Otway Lightstation.

Sources:

Details about many recent events are from previous stories in this series (i.e., my imagination).

Tim's base in Park Row was introduced in Red Robin, and the Robin's Nest is used as a general name for his base in various comics, including Robin (1993) #138 and the New 52 comic Batman Eternal (see #50).

Dick and Tim first met at the circus in Batman #436 (Batman: Year Three), and their second meeting was years later, in Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying.

Steph can play piano and used to take lessons, as shown in Robin #111.

Before he became Robin, Tim went to boarding schools for years. There are multiple references to this, including in Robin III: Cry of the Huntress #4.

Bruce sent thirteen-year-old Tim to Paris in Robin (1991).

One of Dick's lines is inspired by a line from Nightwing (2011) #30: "My name is Dick Grayson. I'm who you need me to be."

Damian's dog, Titus, given to him by Bruce, is borrowed from the first few issues of the New 52 comic Batman and Robin (2011), collected in Batman and Robin: Born to Kill or Batman and Robin: Bad Blood (DC Essential Edition).

Dick's ordeal with the Court of Owls has been adapted from the New 52 storyline Batman: The Court of Owls. Also, for the sake of incorporating the Court of Owls into Post-Crisis/Pre-Flashpoint, I've eliminated any conflicting aspects of Dick's backstory (particularly as written by Devin Grayson) as I see fit.

The origin of the Robin name has been attributed to different sources in various comics, but I drew from both Batman: Dark Victory ("My mom used to call me 'Robin' 'cause I was always 'bobbin along'") and the early Robin: Year One story in Robin (1993) Annual #4 ("I call you Robin because you came to us on the first day of spring").

Dick caught Tim when he fell from the tower in Red Robin #12.

Tim's dad died (and Dick subsequently tried to get in touch with Tim) in Identity Crisis.

Tim was kicked out of the Batcave by the then-Batman (Jean-Paul Valley) in Robin #1 (Batman: Knightquest), and Dick was Tim's Batman in Batman: Prodigal.

Tim lost his spleen at the hands of the League of Assassins in Red Robin #5.

I am indebted to silverwhittlingknife's Dick and Tim meta for helping shape the emotional crux of this story.